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  Cover Copy

  Helen Ashfield’s world is about to be turned upside down. Is she ready?

  Helen Ashfield’s life is complicated. Not only must she adjust to her parents’ divorce, but she has to come to grips with her new school in the small South African Karoo town of Graaff-Reinet. She’s sorely mistaken if she thinks she’s going to slot seamlessly into her new life. Her growing magical powers have attracted the unwanted attention of Trystan, a vampire, who may not have her best interests at heart.

  Outcast from his kind for drinking another vampire’s blood, Trystan has been on the run for almost a hundred years from Mantis–the closest thing their kind has to an enforcer. All Trystan wants is an existence of quiet anonymity, but Helen turns his world upside down.

  Helen’s powers also mark her as one of Mantis’s targets. If Mantis gets control of Helen, she’ll change the course of history...for the worse.

  Content warning: Violence, language.

  Highlight

  The girl recovered her composure first and approached him. She smelled of honey and he fought the need to close the distance between them. She stopped a meter before him, that gaze flicking from his face down to his too-long nails. The thrum of her pulse was the sound of the ocean breaking on rocks, which made him think of the taste of salt on his lips.

  The hunger stirred in his belly, hot and fierce–this girl was one of those rare individuals found once every hundred years. She burned on an aetheric level.

  The perfect victim. He could drink her down to the last drop of her Essence tonight and not need to hunt for weeks, perhaps months if he were clever about it.

  Or, she could take the blood and it would catch, something malicious in him suggested.

  “No,” Trystan said in a low voice. “I won’t.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” Her eyes were so large, gray streaked with green accents. He could stare into them for eternity.

  Camdeboo Nights

  By Nerine Dorman

  Dedication

  To Miss Helen, thank you for the Owl House, and for teaching me that I determine which way East lies.

  Acknowledgements

  An author doesn’t create in a vacuum, and my journey wouldn’t be possible without my lovely husband, as well as the friends who often suffer the most of my authorly meanderings, namely Andrew, Cat, Brian and Carrie. A special thanks goes to Michelle, who knows how to calm me down or just feeds me more coffee, depending on whether she wants to scrape me from the ceiling with a spatula. And, lastly, a big thank you to my editor, Mary, for her endless patience.

  Chapter 1

  Night Driving

  The hunger twisted through Trystan’s gut hard enough for his canines to catch on his bottom lip. What he wanted and, indeed what he had needed since he’d started driving at sunset was to suck down great salty gulps of blood to flood his veins and warm his flesh.

  Four hours until sunrise. The 1948 Hudson Commodore devoured the distance, and her engine roared when he geared down then settled into a comfortable thunder on the flat sections of the N9 National Road.

  Trystan had few attachments to the material world. Rose, the name he’d given to this monster whose streamlined curves were finished with chrome and burnished burgundy paintwork, was his dearest possession.

  “No, baby,” he’d say to her often. “They don’t build them like they used to, do they?”

  Her engine purred in agreement while his fingers slid over the leather-covered steering wheel, knowing every groove, each microscopic indentation. Then his hunger bit with fresh ferocity and Trystan scanned the road, still hoping to sight something, someone.

  He’d driven most of the way to the town of George, on the prowl, but had seen no suitable prey. He had not killed in a long time and, mostly, he tried to avoid the entire messy business. Tonight, however, with a gibbous moon riding low on the western horizon, he could no longer deny his nature. The thrill of the hunt whispered its sweet lunacy.

  For more than two centuries, he had not been human, and there were times when he had to do what vampires did best.

  Not even five minutes outside of Uniondale, a slender girl stood by the side of the road. She wore her long dark hair loose, and her black trousers and shirt made her disappear into the landscape. He would have driven past her if it had not been for her eyes.

  Pale eyes looked directly at him, into him, forcing him to bring the big vehicle to a sliding halt that sent up a spray of gravel the moment the tire rolled off the tarmac.

  Trystan reversed then leaned over to open the passenger door. “Where you wanna be, love?” He hoped his voice did not betray his sheer desperation.

  Get in, woman. Get into the bleeding car before I rip your throat open right here.

  She gave a faint smile, saying not a word as she slipped into the car. Her movement was so slight Rose’s suspension did not shudder.

  “It’s late for you to be out hitching,” Trystan said while he shifted Rose back into gear.

  He thought he saw the girl shrug, but kept his eyes on the road as he steered the Hudson onto the tar. No telltale flashes betrayed oncoming headlights to the north or in his rearview mirror. Good. The N9 and the pretty girl were his this night. Enough late-summer darkness remained to play out the inevitable and he’d have time to feed and still make it back to Nieu Bethesda before sunrise.

  Trystan gunned the engine and Rose responded. He gave her fuel gradually, allowing her to pick up speed without her bulk jerking. The speedometer crawled up from ten, to twenty, to thirty and eventually past one-hundred-and-twenty kilometers an hour.

  The girl had been perusing him silently all this time, and he sneaked a glance at her.

  Damn, there was something not right about the way she regarded him.

  Knowingness lodged in her gaze, in the pale moonlight reflected from dark-ringed pupils. For a moment–and only a moment–he fretted that he had picked up one of his own kind but, no, there wasn’t any of that frisson, that electricity of Essence when faced with another undead. He’d have sensed that much sooner.

  Why would a woman be out walking this stretch of road at this time of night? Alone.

  “So, you didn’t say where you were headed. You were still quite a way from Uniondale. Are you from one of the farms hereabouts?”

  She did not answer, the road narrowed and he had to devote his full attention to another curve, lest the car deviate onto a less suitable route into scrubby terrain.

  Jesus, he hoped she’d say something soon. Being stuck in the car with a freak wouldn’t be a great way to end the night. Things might get nasty, and he’d like to avoid unpleasantness and damage to the upholstery, if he could help it.

  A dry chuckle escaped his lips. Why was he, of all people, so unaccountably leery of a human? The ridiculous situation made him laugh all the more.

  His passenger started laughing as well, but it was not the pleasant sort of sound he’d expect from a young woman. That tone conveyed a more than healthy current of disdain.

  He glanced in her direction the instant the passenger door swung open. The woman was gone. Shock washed through him even as he slammed his foot down hard on the brake. Rose slewed across the road. He did not pause to consider how lucky he was that there had been no oncoming car or truck. He’d worry about the loud banging of rocks beneath the car later. Stopping was more important.

  A scream ripped from his lips, jagged fear locking him
in position. Trystan could not remember having felt this way for a very long time.

  Rose cut out with a shudder. Silence reigned, so heavy he could hear the ringing in his ears punctuated by the soft tick-ticking of Rose’s cooling engine. Moonlight cast everything in a bluish hue. The stink of hot rubber made him gag.

  He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t alive, either.

  He sat still. Some long-buried reflex caused him to draw breath he didn’t need before he expelled a sigh. Far, in the distance, an owl hooted a lonely call, and the distinct scent of apple blossoms filled the car’s interior.

  Trystan got out and walked back to the first skid marks where the car had over-steered, checking for blood, for a body, at the very least. Nothing. With shivers rippling through his flesh, he drove home hungry, reflecting on the irony of his not believing in ghosts, until now.

  Chapter 2

  Trouble Stirring

  Something cold curled beneath the arch of Helen’s bare foot, halting her progress across the plush pile of the living room carpet midstride. What the hell? Her breath hitched and she looked down at the small, wriggling shape she’d almost squashed.

  “Damon!” she shouted. “I think I just found your slug-eater!”

  Her brother yelled a garbled response from upstairs. Helen stepped back then knelt so she could cup the small brown snake in her hands.

  “There you are, silly,” she whispered. The reptile promptly curled itself into its characteristic spiral roll. “My stupid brother’s been worried sick.”

  Breathless, Damon pounded into the room. His freckled face lit up with a huge grin. “You’ve found Priscilla!”

  “Yes, you baboon,” Helen said. “You’re just lucky the maid didn’t find her first, else the poor dear would have been squished into the carpet with a broom. Here, take her. I hope you’ve got some snails for her. She must be starving.”

  Helen waited until he’d taken his pet before she reached out to twist a lock of his hair. “And that’s for being such a freak, letting her escape in the first place.”

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  The telephone’s shrill ringing broke the moment.

  “Do you think that’s Mom?” Damon bit his lip.

  “I hope so,” Helen’s palms grew damp. Funny how she just knew this was the phone call she’d been waiting for all evening. “Go put your snake away. I’ll get the phone.”

  For once, Damon did not argue, and did exactly as told. Helen ran to the study, cursing beneath her breath when she stumbled and stubbed her big toe.

  “Hello?”

  “Sweetie.”

  “Mom! Where are you? It’s already dark! Damon and I came home and–”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine. I-I’ve–”

  Her mother’s voice shook. By then Damon pounded back into the room. Helen looked up into her brother’s white-rimmed eyes and placed her finger to her lips when he opened his mouth.

  “Mom, what’s going on? We’re worried, and Dad, he’s away and–”

  “I’m in hospital, I-I–”

  Helen’s chest tightened. “Did you have an accident?”

  “No, nothing like that. I-I’m not well. Your aunt came to fetch me this morning. I asked her to call you. Didn’t she? Never mind. She’s sending someone ’round to spend the night with you.”

  “What happened?” Helen hated the way her words came out like a childish whine.

  “It’s my– Don’t worry, I just have to spend one night here. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll explain everything then. I love you. Tell that to Damon, too. Everything will be all right.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Her mother killed the call. Helen put down the phone and she and her brother stared at each other without speaking, their breathing and the ticking of the wall clock filling the silence.

  Damon ran a hand through his copper-colored hair. “What’s up with Mom? It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Helen was unable to keep the tremor from her voice. “She’s in hospital. That’s all she’s saying. I’m calling Dad.”

  With shaking fingers, she dialed her father’s cell phone number. The call went straight through to voicemail and anger stirred in her.

  “Hi, this is Brent Ashfield. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. If you leave your name, number and the time of your call, I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible.” Typical. So fucking typical.

  “Aaargh!” Helen slammed the phone down without waiting to leave a message. The urge to break any nearby fragile objects almost overwhelmed her.

  Don’t panic, Helen. Everything is under control, right?

  Damon said, “He’s not available again, is he?”

  She shook her head. She was damned if she was going to let Damon know how much her father’s too-convenient absence pissed her off. “Guess I’ll have to call Aunt Tanja then. At least it’s not like Mom was in an accident or something.”

  Damon sighed, his voice quiet when he spoke. “She was crying again this morning, sis. You’d already left. I didn’t want to tell you, but...”

  “Fuck it!” was all Helen could say, her hands clenched tightly so that her nails bit into her palms.

  Chapter 3

  What the Cards Say

  Etienne found Arwen in their new meeting place, tucked away in the nook between the music department and the school hall. His friend was bent over her tarot cards, her black-dyed fringe obscuring her face. She looked up when he flopped to the ground before her.

  “Good, you made it.” Arwen gathered the cards spread before her, as if she didn’t want him to see the layout.

  “I think Odette suspects we’re reading cards again. Johan and Jean-Pierre were following me.”

  “They weren’t trying to make good on the bog-washing threat again, were they?”

  “No. I think they mentioned a spot of ‘toss the dwarf’, this time.” Etienne tried to sound nonchalant, but Arwen mostly likely saw past his attempt at a calm facade.

  “Fuckers,” Arwen muttered.

  “Well, you gonna read the cards for me today?” Etienne gazed at the deck his friend still shuffled.

  “I’m not really in the mood now. I don’t think they’re going to talk to me today.”

  “You promised. This is the only chance we’ll get for a while.”

  “It’s not something I can just do, Etti. I have to tune into their essence and after what happened in mathematics today, I’m not sure I can get back into it.”

  “What were you doing when I arrived then? Just do a three-card reading for me, please?”

  Arwen pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, where numerous indentations in her lobe and cartilage betrayed she could wear almost a dozen items of jewelry. She sighed and smoothed down the ragged black velvet cloth in which she kept her tarot cards wrapped.

  “Okay, just a three-card reading then, but don’t blame me if it’s not satisfactory.”

  Etienne loved the way the big cards slipped through Arwen’s fingers when she shuffled them. In his small hands the stack was too unwieldy, and the cards never made much sense no matter how he squinted at them. Yet, still, Arwen flipped the cards over to reveal their illustrations and corresponding message.

  “Okay, Etti, you know the drill. Shift the deck in your hands and think of your question.”

  This was an old ritual between them, the words comforting. The cards he took from Arwen held the warmth from her hands. He had no question, though. In class or in the dormitories, he could always think of a dozen to ask but here, now, he drew a blank. He’d asked about love, exam results and now his mind refused to give him any clues.

  What about asking how to get Odette Pienaar off his case?

  Arwen smiled back at him and he was fairly certain she knew exactly what was on his mind. She accepted the cards from him and cut the deck. He pointed out an order for her to place three piles back into one. Three cards were laid face down on the cloth.

  “Ready?” Arwen
asked.

  “Always.”

  Arwen laughed–something she rarely did when other people were around. She looked much younger then.

  The middle card was the first to be flipped over, and she said, “Oh, dear, the Nine of Swords. Cruelty. A malicious person, perhaps?”

  Etienne nodded, the small hairs on his arms prickling. They did not have to speak the name out loud. Sometimes the cards proved eerily accurate.

  The card to the left of the central card displayed the Two of Wands. “Dominion. We’re looking at force here, poorly dignified by the swords, perhaps interfering.”

  “That’s stuff we both know,” he said. “This isn’t giving the solutions.”

  “You’re too impatient. Wait to see what the last card says before you carry on bitching.”

  Etienne frowned and shut his mouth. Patience was not one of his virtues. He didn’t need the cards to tell him that. The air was still and even here in the shade in the niche, it was hot–that typical dry, semi-desert heat that sapped strength and made breathing difficult.

  Arwen took her time on purpose, first stretching and looking about before she turned over the last card. “Ah, well, this one’s not too bad, Etti.”

  “The Wheel of Fortune, but which being will be in ascendance when it turns, the Sphinx, the Monkey King or Typhon himself?”

  “Does it matter? The point is that it turns. Justice will be served.”

  “Can we nudge it along, eh?” Predictable. What goes around, comes around. Waiting sucked.

  “Perhaps,” Arwen said. “But I’m too boiling right now to think.”

  A babble of Afrikaans voices intruded on what he’d wanted to say, echoing off the walls. Both friends froze. Their nook had been a great place for them to meet but the only drawback in their plan was if their refuge was discovered. They were hopelessly trapped.